


Sibylla

by Ashling



Category: Original Work
Genre: Assassination Attempt(s), F/F, F/M, Other, POV Second Person, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling
Summary: Over the years, your queen is married five times.
Relationships: New Queen/Advisor Pining For Her/Voluntary Potential Harem Volunteers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15
Collections: Battleship 2020 - Yellow Team





	Sibylla

**Author's Note:**

  * For [K_Popsicle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Popsicle/gifts).



The first time is the hardest. Sibylla, Queen of the Sapphire Isles, first among queens and first in your heart, looks absolutely radiant as she scales the marriage pyramid to meet her first wife at its peak. It is a love marriage, this time. As you watch them kiss, you comfort yourself that at least you can be sure of Amarcia's loyalty. You used all your powers as the Royal Counselor to find that out beforehand.

The second time and the third time come quite close together; you are on the eve of a war and bulking up alliances as best as you can. Neither of them are in love with her, but the spouse is a shrewd tactician and the husband is good-hearted and full-coffered, so you let that slide. It is a bit ridiculous, approving marriages to the Queen with people who don't love her. Everyone should love her. You can't recall a time that you did not love her, even before you were in love with her; giggling behind the back of your etiquette teacher, you loved her; racing through the woods on your matching bay mares, you loved her; walking behind her at her father's funeral, you loved her. And over the years, she's only changed for the better. Everyone should love her. But you let it go.

The fourth marriage is a dreadful mistake, albeit one that you couldn't have seen coming. A volcano on one of the islands has left the air full of ash and destroyed over half of that year's harvest, so it makes sense for her to marry a mage of some sort. You are already sick with envy, and angry with yourself because of it; Sibylla's pregnancy shows that at least one of her previous three spouses has had sex with her, and although you always knew this would likely be true, you never wanted to think of it. The mage is indeed powerful, although fortunately not as clever as they think they are; they leave Sibylla's bed a smoking crater, but the burned body in it is Sibylla's first wife. You keep small knives in your long sleeves, so the mage doesn't live long enough to find out their mistake.

From then on, your advice is against marriage. You can see what effect it has on Sibylla, and you do care, but you can't help it. There are problems that can be solved by marriage, but there's no way that you can devise to completely ensure her safety if she's sharing a bed with someone you don't know, and due to custom, she can't marry anyone from the Isles. The whole thing is a nightmare. You consult librarians, seers, priests to see if that custom has exceptions, to no avail. You can sense the other courtiers cooling to you; perhaps they see your weakness and they disapprove. What of it? You disapprove, yourself. You hate it, yourself. It's so hard to sleep, and with both her remaining spouses heading up raids against Wyllish pirates, you know that she's lonely. This cannot last, but you will make it last for as long as is possible.

Her brother Ashibylla returns a widow to the Sapphire Isles, and this is an enormous comfort to you; you were raised together, you can trust him. He too knows of assassins and depleted coffers and rebels, and he too knows Sibylla well enough to speak little on certain bad days, or lots of mild nonsense on others. It is a relief to finally speak with somebody who has a devotion to the queen that almost equals yours; you could have had this earlier, with the queen's first wife, maybe, but your jealousy prevented you. You regret that now. You have so many regrets now.

And then it happens. Over wine and roast goat, after a conversation about the olive harvest, Sibylla offers you her brother's hand in marriage. You can't even look at her as she offers you the Crescent Isle for your loyal service, and you wonder if this is her way of getting rid of you for constantly objecting to her own marriage prospects; with you managing an island, and married, you will only see her twice a year and she can find a new Counselor. But then you dismiss that thought. It's disloyal to even think that. She says that she sees you and Ash spending time togther, that she wants you to be happy and you've been so unhappy since the assassination attempt. She says that you and Ash look good together. If that's her wish, who are you to refuse?

Ash doesn't refuse you. He doesn't accept you. He takes one long, searching look at your face, and then goes straight into Sibylla's room and locks the door after him. Perhaps he dislikes the idea so much that he will persuade Sibylla against the marriage, and perhaps he likes you enough to advise that you're kept on as Counselor, but you doubt it. You can't sleep that night. You don't watch Sibylla's door, but your room is only a few doors down and you can hear the footsteps of servants going in and out, taking several orders. You recognize the limping gait of the head cook. That means a wedding, doesn't it? Honey cakes and salted fish. You try not to cry.

It is well past dawn when Sibylla summons you. You go at once, then remember in the hall that you haven't changed clothes since last night, so you have to go back and get a fresh robe. When you reach her, she is a shaded pavilion in the gardens, alone. On any other day, you would reproach her for not bringing a pair of guards with her, but selfishly, you're glad that there's nobody else to witness whatever this conversation will be. It's Sibylla and only Sibylla who will see your face, and you know she won't carry tales about you to anybody else. To be fair, who would be interested in tales about you?

Ash is to be her new Royal Counselor. That is a blow you were not expecting, but as she discusses transition and you assure her that it will go smoothly, that Ash has the makings of a legacy-defining Counselor, you come to realize that this is probably for the best. He's fond of you, but he could not feign love for you. There is a dignity in that. You appreciate it. You are staring at your nails and wishing, like a child, that you could maybe chew on them like you used to when you were younger and missed your home city. It's been decades since you felt like a hostage in the Sapphire Isles again, but the feeling is as visceral and fresh as it was on your very first day. It's irrational. You try to ignore it. The Crescent Isle is a lovely place, you've visited it many times as part of Sibylla's tri-annual tours of the Isles, and you are lucky to be given its management rather than turned into some useless emeritus position like that of the Poison Taster.

You're thinking with pity of the current Poison Taster, a general who lost quite an important battle, when you realize that Sibylla has just offered to be your wife. You gape. She continues calmly, she has her reasons: you are not of the Isles by birth, you are trustworthy, you're technically still a noble, and once Ash is Counselor, you're free to get married. It's all very logical. If you're being honest with yourself, you have imagined scenarios like this happening, but they tended to take place in thunderstorms after you miraculously saved her life or won an entire battle single-handedly and she realized that she was in love with you all along, silly things like that. Stiffly, you agree that they are very good reasons, and that as Counselor you can endorse the decision, and—

Oh, you're a fool. You're a fool and she smells like jasmine, her hands in your hair are cool, her kiss is gentle. When your hands settle on her hips, she walks you backwards till the back of your knees hits the pavilion bench and you sit, stunned, only for her to settle in your lap. None of this is believable and yet when she strokes your cheek with the back of her hand, it is with such tenderness that disbelieving her would be sacrilege. It's been a long time, she eventually says. And it has.

You accept the proposal.


End file.
